SCRO Games 1: Heartbeat
by Rainfeather79
Summary: VERY, VERY, VERY AU. USA November 2011. SCRO: Student Combat Research Organization. Details in fic. T for language, cold-blooded murder, reluctant murder, manslaughter, and/or possible slash.
1. Introduction

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games.**

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><p>This rendition of the Games is an <strong>alternate-universe (AU)<strong> story.

It takes place in **modern-day United States of America,** **November 2011**.

The Capitol is obviously not portrayed as 'the Capitol'. It is rather shown as the research group **SCRO**, or the **Student Combat Research Organization**.

Each school that sent in students was given a pamphlet stating that the organization was in fact known properly as the **Student Committee Resources Organization**, and that they were organizing a meeting to speak with students about what they believed their school committees should do with the resources they were given. 

**All **of these schools swallowed the lie.**  
>None<strong> were aware that they were sending twenty-three of them to their deaths.

They were shipped out to a remote island in the middle of the **Pacific Ocean**, where a multitude of **sick-minded, rich adults** waited to watch how the children would react to their environments.

The **kids**, on the other hand, were told that if they wanted to **survive**, they would have to **kill the other twenty-three**.

And with that said –** the story commences**.

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><p><strong>Read and review?<strong>

**-Ace**


	2. Bloodlust

**I do not own The Hunger Games.  
><strong>

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><p><strong>Prologue: Bloodlust<strong>

"This lady… Suzanne Collins… she had the right idea. Her idea of a shining 'Capitol', these 'Hunger Games' that she portrays in her writing… it's a flawless solution to our plan."

There was silence in the room for a few seconds after the statement was made, a few seconds for the words to be digested. The man who had made the comment – a sturdy visionary of his thirty-somethings neatly dressed in collar and tie – watched the room for a response with cold, bored eyes, as if all of these rich men and professors crowding the table were nothing more pieces on a game board. Easily manipulated, easily put aside if the need arose.

As if on cue, the room suddenly erupted in speculating voices.

"It could work–"

"Basing our experiment off of a _children's_ _author_? He must be mad–"

"That's the most brilliant idea I've ever heard–!"

"No, no, and no. It can't possibly–"

"You do know that the Capitol loses, right?"

At this last exclamation, the room settled, and every man and woman – scientist, spectator, or organization head – turned to stare at the young man who had said it. He was one of the youngest there, perhaps twenty, and his confidence did not waver as he felt all eyes shift to him. "The Capitol," he repeated in a firm voice, "does not win the war. In Collins' book, the Capitol falls, and the districts recapture their country. Surely you know that this happens, Professor Lanner?"

The man who had first spoken looked calmly at the dissenter. "Carnahan, it's always a pleasure to explain the motives and goals of the organization to you." _It's always a pleasure to make you look like an idiot in front of the organization, newcomer. _"The SCRO is dedicated to researching how the average American student would fare in combat, were they to be placed on a battlefield. We are also dedicated to finding out how their morals would be affected, should their survival be at stake. This is all information that would be offered to the government, should they require soldiers in an anticipated World War III."

Blaine Carnahan couldn't help but interject, "The SCRO isn't strictly _government-approved_, Professor."

Lanner cast the young man a long, slow look. "Yes, of course, but we have its best interests in mind. While the government is busy with boosting its economy, we are taking the initiative to prepare for a war that stands inevitably in our future. And speaking of best interests, it would be in _your_ best interests to support our organization, Carnahan. After all, we _are_ the ones supporting your wife… and your child. Would you be able to afford your apartment, were it not for the income you receive from us?"

"No," Carnahan mumbled, suddenly quiet.

"Then allow me to continue." Lanner turned to the rest of the room, every word leaving his lips stronger and more confidently than the last. "Collins wrote about a world where an oppressive Capitol pitted children from the districts against each other for sheer entertainment. They were overthrown because, foolhardy as they were, the Capitol depended on the districts for every supply of every_thing_ they had. The SCRO depends on nobody but itself." There were a few nods around the room, spurring Lanner on. "And are we like the Capitol, throwing kids into combat for no good reason other than for quality entertainment? No. We are trying to find an efficient way to put the average student into a real combat situation, in order to find the best way to train these students as soldiers in the event of war. Are we like the Capitol, naïve puppets on the hand of a single manipulator? No! We are an organization of highly skilled, highly trained professionals. So what," he asked, turning to Carnahan, "makes you think that we could possibly suffer the same fate as the Capitol of Suzanne Collins' imagination?"

"I…" Carnahan glanced around for help, but none was forthcoming. "It…"

The professor cut him off. "We would not. We would only need to conduct _one_ of these 'Games', as Collins calls them. Twenty-four students, twelve male and twelve female. It should be easy enough to procure them – sending out flyers advertising SCRO as the Student Committee Resources Organization, and its need for volunteers, could easily do the trick. After those Games have concluded, we can dispatch of the victor and disappear, with all of the information that we could possibly need."

Carnahan made one last, feeble attempt. "What about the funding for your arena? What about these poor kids' _parents,_ for God's sake? Don't you care about them?"

Lanner laughed. "Funding is not a problem. There are many men in this very room who would pay to see our research carried out, and they have no issues with spending a little for the sake of our country." His eyes grew from cold and bored to simply cold. "As for their parents… they won't find out. Their children will never be seen again. But even if they did find out, they should be glad. These kids will give their lives to a good cause. They will be the ultimate patriots, the ultimate soldier's sacrifice."

"But… you… their parents…"

"Carnahan, another word and I will see to it that your son is among those who are reaped for these Games."

Carnahan fell silent. Lanner glanced at him for a split second before turning to the room.

"All in favor of this procedure – the SCRO Games?"

The room burst into enthusiastic agreement. Lanner's persuasion had woken a sizzling bloodlust within them; it ran through their veins like adrenaline, made them of one vicious animal mind.

"All opposed?"

There was silence. Carnahan stared at the ground, twisting his hand around his wrist, but he did not dare to object after Lanner's threat.

"Good. The flyers will be sent tonight; the 'tributes', so to speak, will be reaped mid-November. In this time, the arena will be built, and Gamemakers will be appointed." His eyes were hard with anticipation as he took in the SCRO assembled before him. "If all objectives are clear… let the Games begin."

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><p><strong>Reviews appreciated.<strong>

**-Ace**


	3. Tributes

**I do not own The Hunger Games.**_  
><em>

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><p><em>NOTE: these names were made up on the spot while I was typing up the tribute list. To my knowledge, none of them actually exist, and if one of these names sounds familiar to you – well, it's not. I've probably thrown in the name of a real high school or prep school or middle school or private school in there somewhere, but rest assured that I am not writing this story about real schools, nor am I writing about real people. THE SCRO IS NOT REAL, EITHER. Thanks.<br>_

_These are the twelve schools handpicked by the SCRO to submit students - or rather, to reap tributes. Every school then picked a single female and single male student to send in. This includes a basic summary of the schools and students... districts and tributes, so to speak._

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><p><em><strong>Green Mountain Preparatory School, Vermont: a Vermont-based university-preparatory school. Students here have the option to either board or commute. The age range of the student body is from 14-18 years old. Academic and athletic expectations are both very high here. Students must be wealthy to attend - the tuition is astronomical.<strong>  
><em>

**Valerie Blair**- female, seventeen years old. Academically proficient, one of Green Mountain's star tennis players. Family is very wealthy, a self-made fortune made by her father. Hardworking, but unaccustomed to real hardship. Makes friends easily, popular without making enemies.

**Batiste Russel** - male, fifteen years old. Athletically challenged (asthma, slight anemia), but academically advanced beyond expectations. Nationally competitive chess player. Middle-class family, tuition paid by full scholarship. Taciturn and quiet, not very outgoing. Awkward around people.

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><p><em><strong>Harrison Blake High School, New York: a humanities school in New York City. Students must commute. The age range of the student body is from 13-18 years old, with a few straggling 19- or 20-year-olds. Athletic expectations are very high; academics are not so rigorously maintained, but students are expected to keep their average above a 75 at all times. It is a public school.<strong>  
><em>

**Alia Cassian**- female, sixteen years old. Academically adequate, a shy student in school but an extroverted, competitive player on the basketball courts after school has ended. Family is lower-class, but managing to make ends meet. Has spent a few years of her life in poverty before. Generally likable, but extremely competitive.

**Lyle Avitt** - male, sixteen years old. Not particularly interested in excelling in either academics or athletics, but extremely (and it seems naturally) proficient at many of the humanities courses offered at Harrison Blake. Has a reputation as one of the best student anthropologists in the school. However, he never studies and maintains a terrible sleep pattern, as he is always going out nights for parties and celebrations. SCRO has not been able to find a single person who dislikes this student. Family is lower-middle-class; mother and father are one year divorced over incompatibility. Student has coped extremely well.

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><p><em><strong>Everview Middle School, Massachusetts: a middle school in Massachusetts. Students are either dropped off by their parents or picked up by the school bus system. The age range of the student body is from 11-14 years old. Athletic and academic expectations are normal. It is a public school.<strong>  
><em>

**Paige Levret** - female, twelve years old. An average student. Consistently maintains the fastest record on the track team, despite being the smallest student in Everview. Very modest and very shy. Middle-class family. Looks younger than age, may draw feelings of sympathy from other test subjects. High endurance, but insecure.

**Drew Hale** - male, thirteen years old. A slightly-above-average student. Consistently maintains the _second_-fastest record on the track team; admires Levret as a healthy rival. A little overconfident and rowdy like most boys of that age. Middle-class family. Proud; ego may interfere with decisions.

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><p><em><strong>St. John's Private School, Virginia: a private K-12 school in Virginia. Students must commute. The age range of the student body is approximately 5-18 years old. Academic expectations are stellar, but athletic expectations are very low. Families must be wealthy to pay the high tuition fees.<strong>  
><em>

**Marianne Dalis**- female, fifteen years old. Academically very good, but not exceptional. Severely athletically challenged, cannot run a half mile in under ten minutes. Lower-upper-class family; adopted by two male parents. Has a reputation among teachers and students alike for a friendly, charming attitude and a sweet smile. Could very possibly make allies, but is heavily drawn back by lack of physical capability.

**Kale Arlyn** - male, seventeen years old. Academically struggling (by St. John's standards; above average by normal standards). One of the typical high school 'jocks', a star on the basketball court and the quarterback of the football team. Upper-class family, divorced parents (lives with father). Many St. John's girls find him desirable. Can show arrogance, but rarely full-fledged conceit. Shows promise for the arena.

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><p><em><strong>Richmont High School, Florida: a high school in Florida. Students must commute. The age range of the student body is 13-18 years old. Academic and athletic expectations are normal. There is a very high rate of both homosexuality and homophobia in this school, which is being frantically assessed and contained by school administrators. It is a public school.<strong>  
><em>

**Sahara Maram**- female, thirteen years old. Academically blooming as a freshman, athletically involved (volleyball). True middle-class family, very comfortable life. Easy to like, but not particularly excellent in any one area.

**Cameron Piccolo** - male, fifteen years old. Academically and athletically proficient. Not very social or trusting - mother died five years before, leaving student with a severely homophobic father. Problem with father: student is closeted, but definitely gay. Will be interesting to see how this affects attitude in arena. Puts on a front to please the father, but doesn't really agree.

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><p><em><strong>Saint-Clair High School, Georgia: a high school in Georgia. Students must commute. The age range of the student body is 13-18 years old. Academic expectations are average, but athletic expectations are slightly higher. Very socially involved in the community. It is a public school.<strong>  
><em>

**Felicia Clement** - female, fifteen years old. Academically struggling, not scholastically involved in any sports. However, there are many reports of Clement being one of the best and most enduring dancers in the state, and student competes in solo dance competitions on her own time. Lower-class family; often goes by one or two meals a day. Hard to get close to, but has a small group of extremely loyal friends.

**Oliver Maine** - male, sixteen years old. Academically and athletically fit, a strong voice in student council. Well-loved by almost all the staff of the school. Middle-class family, known as a laid-back person except when in debate. Watching for how student changes once put into the arena; the debate transformation is very promising.

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><p><em><strong>New Arlen High School, Connecticut: a high school in Connecticut. Students must commute. The age range of the student body is 13-18 years old. Academic and athletic expectations are high. Extremely involved in the musical arts; nationally ranked for band and guard, concert choir, glee club, wind ensemble, and jazz ensemble performances. It is a public school.<strong>  
><em>

**Anna Dove** - female, fourteen years old. Academically excellent, though in worse condition from an athletic view. A very, very, very active member of the concert band, marching band, and wind ensemble; highest seated in student graduating class (class of 2014), main instrument being the flute. Upper-middle-class family with very strong morals. A little awkward around lots of people but completely comfortable with closer friends. Best friends with Asher Palmetto since elementary school. Will be carefully watched.

**Asher Palmetto** - male, fifteen years old. Academically decent, an active athlete outside of school. Very involved in the concert and marching bands, a little less so in the wind ensemble; highly seated in the class of 2014 concert band, but lower as a wind ensemble clarinet. Middle-class family, neatly divorced parents. Still sees both father and mother on a weekly basis, but lives with mother. Quiet in small groups but ridiculously extroverted in large ones. Best friends with Anna Dove since elementary school. Will be carefully watched.

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><p><em><strong>Killenraum High School, Texas: <em>a high school in Texas. Students must commute. The age range of the student body is 13-18 years old. Academic expectations are much lower than athletic ones. It is a public school.<em>**  
><em>

**Raya Coltott** - female, fifteen years old. Academically stellar, a very involved member of the volleyball team. From an average lower-class family. Quiet and pleasant, with a secret reputation as a thief (not rumors, SCRO has confirmed). Shows strong survival impulses.

**Paxton Renee** - male, eighteen years old. Academically and athletically relaxed for senior year; waiting in anticipation to escape school. From a comfortable middle-class family. Arrogant, with tendencies to act superior, but this may be due to being a high school upper-class-man and may change when placed in the arena. Has a history of good grades and involvement.

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><p><em><strong>Daly High School, New Jersey: <em><em>a high school in New Jersey. Students must commute. The age range of the student body is 13-18 years old. Academic and athletic expectations are average. Bullying is not tolerated at all in Daly. It is a public school.<em>_**  
><em>

**Bianca Tyler** - female, sixteen years old. Academically strong, athletically proficient. Deeply dedicated to concert choir. Family is upper-middle-class. Overall very easy to like; gets along with most peers.

**Gabriel Fairfax** - male, fifteen years old. Academically and athletically average, comfortable in a social setting. Due to Daly's strict no-bullying policy, student is very relaxed about being openly gay. Family consists of only an accepting mother, since the father was a deadbeat father; they are mid-lower-class, but not struggling too much. Well-liked by both female and male students, despite his sexuality.

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><p><em><strong>Faberton Private High School, Michigan: a private high school in Michigan. Students may choose to board or commute. The age range of the student body is 13-18 years old. Academic and athletic expectations are high, and tuition is very, very expensive, even for a private school. However, the school itself is of stunning quality. Even SCRO was impressed.<strong>  
><em>

**Kellin Bailey** - female, seventeen years old. Academically proficient and athletically involved in almost every sport offered in the program. Specializes in basketball. Middle-class family. Pleasant and non-confrontational.

**Jarod Everett** - male, fourteen years old. Has a track record of incredible grades, but teachers have not seemed to notice this as student has been placed in a very basic remedial class. Physically fit, but not scholastically active with it. Upper-middle-class family, argumentative and fierce even to instructors and administrators.

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><p><strong><em>Laurel Bell Middle School, Pennsylvania:<em> a middle school in Pennsylvania. Students are either dropped off by their parents or picked up by the school bus system. The age range of the student body is from 11-14 years old. Athletic and academic expectations are slightly, but not very much, above average. It is a public school.<em>_**

**Plover Arlet** - female, twelve years old. Intelligent but rather small, climbs trees for recreation. Often runs and hides at meeting new people; student shows extremely introverted tendencies. Family is lower-class, often without food, which may be the cause of student's slim structure. May be interesting to watch how student copes in the arena with this strategy.

**Chase Marcel** - male, fourteen years old. Not exceptionally smart - approximately average - but an involved athlete. Loves hockey. Family is lower-middle-class, decent. Very friendly, looks out for the younger kids at Laurel Bell. Possible subject to watch.

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><p><strong><em>Granbury High School, Delaware:<em><em> a high school in Delaware. Students must commute. The age range of the student body is 13-18 years old. Academic expectations are much higher than athletic ones; this school has a severe bullying problem. It is a public school.<em>__**

**Kristina Newberry** - female, sixteen years old. Intelligent and athletic, part of the school's colorguard and active on student council. Family is a comfortable middle class. Protective of twin brother Finch Newberry, very close. Definite material to keep a close observation on.

**Finch Newberry** - male, sixteen years old. Intelligent and athletic, part of the school's colorguard and active on student council. Family is a comfortable middle class. Often bullied because of the 'girly' things he does (guard and council) as well as having an effeminate name; twin sister only makes it worse by stepping in, making it seem as if student cannot defend himself. Nicknamed 'Finn' when hoping to make people forget full name 'Finch'; the renaming does not work. Very close to twin sister Kristina Newberry. Definite material to keep a close observation on.

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><p><strong>What do you think of the tributes?<br>'Reapings' will begin next chapter.  
>So... reviews?<br>Gracias.**

**-Ace**


	4. GMPS: Valerie Blair

**A/N:**Sorry if this sounds bad, but... I've honestly never even been to a prep school, nor have I boarded anywhere! But this is what I managed to come up with. Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you Miss Valerie Blair, senior at Green Mountain Prep.

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games.

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><p><strong>Green Mountain Preparatory School (GMPS), Vermont<br>Valerie Blair  
>Female; age 17<strong>

Two things wake me up. One is an odd, lingering scent of oranges of the air. The other is the touch of an icy glass pressed against my lips. When I open my eyes, I don't see much, and what I _do_ see makes no sense at all: a thin, perfectly manicured hand curved around a tall glass of something neon orange.

"…the hell…?" I mumble, falling back deeper into my blanket. Maybe it'll go away if I ignore it for long enough.

"Rise and _shiiiine_, Val!" August Freeman, the least sane person on earth (and my roommate), exclaims. So much for that idea. August's sudden outburst makes me jump, knocking the glass out of her hand and spilling orange juice all over my bed – probably my pajamas, too... the stuff is _freezing_ cold and it motivates me just enough to slide out of bed. As soon as I'm clear of the veritable iceberg on the mattress, I take a seat on the floor. Then I proceed to stare at August, who has a sheepish look on her face.

"Uh… sorry."

I roll my eyes. "Think about that the next time you want to feed me orange juice while I'm asleep." _And_ _this is just one of the many reasons why I didn't want to board at a prep school. _"Why'd you have to wake me up? I was having a good dream."

Really, I wasn't having any dreams, but it can't hurt.

August's brown eyes grow sad like a lost puppy's. "Aww, don't be like that, Val. I was just trying to be nice. I'm sorry." She leans over to help me up. "Forgive me?"

And I accept the offer, because she's only 14 and she's just too damn cute. "Alright, fine," I say with a sigh, feigning reluctance. August immediately lets go of my hand to skip a lap around the room.

"Yay!" she sings, her curly brown hair flying. The ringlets bounce every time she takes a step, making her look more like an eight-year-old at a circus than a teenage girl in a university-preparatory school. She doesn't act like a high school freshman. Sometimes I think they wrote her birth certificate wrong and ended up making her older than she is. "So can we go get breakfast now? I can get you some more orange juice!"

Though my pajamas are still soaked down the front with orange, I have to smile at that. "I think I've had more than enough _orange juice_ for today, thank you very much."

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><p>It doesn't take long to get to the cafeteria from the dorms, but sometimes the winding hallways can make it seem that way. August runs down the hall, always a step or two or ten ahead of me. I follow more slowly, still trying to adjust my uncombed hair, not quite done buttoning the dark blue polo I threw on to replace my newly orange pajamas. I hate collared shirts. The buttons always seem to elude my grasp, slipping from my fingers when I try to put them through the slits, and pretty soon my fingertips are aching from pressing against these goddamn buttons for so long…<p>

"Want help with that?" a low, soft, vaguely familiar voice whispers in my ear behind me. I jump, losing my hold on my shirt completely. The owner of the voice cracks up; at the sound of the familiar laughter, I whirl around on my toes and glare indignantly at the culprit.

"What's so funny?" I demand, staring at the boy with the hot pink shirt and coffee-brown hair and bright, _beautiful_ green eyes. My boyfriend, Lance Merrill. In response to my question, Lance leans in and brushes his lips against mine.

"You look nice. You know, you should wear collars more often," he whispers against my mouth.

I look at him skeptically and raise an eyebrow, opening up the distance a little more. Maybe about a centimeter. "Oh, really?"

"Yeah. With the buttons open and your hair all messed up and everything, it's pretty hot–"

I laugh and shove him lightly away from me. "Quit it, Lance!" I follow the direction that August was headed in, though by now she's nowhere to be seen. Lance, in turn, is quick to follow _me_.

"Val, you know I'm kidding," he calls after me. I slacken my pace just enough to let him catch up and he puts his arms around me from the back; when he does, I stop. He knows I love it when he does this. It's sad to say that I'm so completely transparent, but I do. "You could be dressed in a heap of rags and I'd still think you were the most beautiful girl on earth."

Lance is the sweetest guy _ever_. I turn around and put my arms around his neck. "Oh, yeah? So what would you think if I did _this…?"_ And I pull him slightly down into a kiss.

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><p>We've been going for a long time, longer than any couple at this school. In a few days, we'll have officially had our five-year anniversary. We've known each other since we were kids; our parents are long-standing business partners and we always lived close to each other growing up, well-within shouting distance. If I wanted Lance to come over, all I'd have to do was clear my throat and yell for him at the top of my lungs. If he could, he'd be over in a couple of minutes; if he couldn't, he would yell back, often with some sort of silly (and utterly Lance-like) excuse. It drove the neighbors mad.<p>

When we were in sixth grade, both of us started to realize that we had feelings for someone, romantic and warm and fuzzy feelings that couldn't be confided in anyone other than our best friends. Naturally, we came to each other for advice. The talks were always awkward; we would skirt around who the object of our affections _was_, instead referring to them as _that guy_ and _that girl_. I have to admit that I was nearly green with jealously every time he talked about the girl he liked, the way he loved the sound of her laughter and how amazing she was at tennis (which was extra-grating, because tennis is _my_ sport), the look in her eyes and the smell of her hair. I had always been the girl in his life, though admittedly I'd never been more than his best friend. His very best friend.

His best friend who happened to be in love with him.

I was always careful when he asked me questions about who I liked. "What about you, Val?" he'd say, leaning back on my pillow. "Who is it?"

I'd reply with a sly wink and say, "It's a secret, but I'll let you in on something. He's the most amazing guy in the world."

And so we skirted around the topic for about a year.

But it all changed at the Thanksgiving party in our classroom in seventh grade.

We'd been having a discussion the day before the party. I can remember it clearer than I remember waking up today. Lance was lounging on our couch in the living room; I was sitting on the floor with a bowl of popcorn in my hands. We were watching _Sesame Street_ on the TV, just for kicks. "Hey, Val," Lance said, just as the characters on the screen segued into a bright, upbeat song about the letter 'M'. "Are you planning on… y'know… making a move on the guy you've been telling me about?"

I nearly choked on my popcorn. "No! Why would you ask that?"

"It doesn't seem healthy for you to be swooning over him whenever I'm around, then acting all shy and cute when he's there."

"You don't even know who he is," I retorted, reflecting on the irony of that statement in my head.

"No, because you won't tell me."

I crammed another handful of popcorn in my hand, ignoring the tang as my mouth went into shock from salt overload. "It's not as if you're telling me who _you_ like, Lance."

Lance suddenly looked pained. He sat up and stared at me for a few seconds, then said, almost inaudibly, "Fine."

Fine?

"Fine what?" I echoed around my mouthful of popcorn.

"Fine, I'll let you know who she is. Tomorrow. At the Thanksgiving party in school."

I'm pretty sure I must have looked fairly frustrated. I certainly felt it. "Why not now?"

Lance swallowed hard. "I'm going to kiss her."

And at that, my world had crashed.

I spent the remainder of my time until the party sick with heartbreak and worry. What if I didn't like the girl he was going to kiss? How would I react to seeing him all over another girl? Would he get in trouble with the teacher?

As it turned out, I didn't need to worry. In the middle of the party, I noticed Lance looking choked-up on nerves and my petty self-concern dissipated.

"Are you okay?" I'd asked him, pulling him aside.

"Uh, yeah… Val, I need to tell you something. Well, I, uh, need to _do_ something."

I sighed. "Yeah, I know. You're going to go and kiss the girl of your dreams–"

And at that point, I couldn't continue, because his lips were suddenly pressing against mine.

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><p>Everything worked itself out from there. There were tears, and there was laughter, and there was a whole lot more kissing from that point onwards, but we had finally found each other–<p>

"Blair! Merrill!" A sharp exclamation breaks into our kiss. Lance pulls away, letting go of me, and we both stand there sheepishly in front of one of my teachers. Luckily, it's Mr. Callan, the language arts teacher who never gives out detentions and is usually pretty cool with everything. He let us throw water balloons at passerby out the window once (and made us swear not to tell). "Please try to keep the public displays of affection down to a minimum."

"Yes, Mr. C," I say obediently, taking a step away from Lance. Mr. Callan smiles and shakes his head because he knows very well that we won't do as we're told for very long. He claps a hand on my shoulder.

"There's a good girl, Valerie," he tells me. "Don't get into any trouble." Then he walks off, crisp and shiny in a neat tweed suit. Lance watches him go. As soon as he turns the corner, my boyfriend's arm miraculously finds its own way around my shoulders and we walk the remaining distance to the cafeteria.

"Mr. Callan seems kind of weird," he observes. Lance doesn't have Mr. C for any of his classes and I quickly remind him of the fact. We're deep in debate with each other as we pick up waffles and (what do you know?) orange juice from the cafeteria staff. They're very used to this, as are we. Ms. Raymond, one of the lunch ladies, even pushes my waffle back onto my plate for me after it falls into the tin of pancakes. I turn to her and apologize, but she simply gives me a fond smile and walks away.

"See? Now look what you've made me done. I dropped my waffle on the pancakes. Poor Ms. Raymond had to pick it up for me because I was so preoccupied with proving _you_ wrong," I say in a rush. Hm. Maybe I've been arguing for too long. My accusation doesn't even make much sense to _me_. Lance just laughs.

"Okay, okay. Mr. Callan isn't _that_ weird. Now let's talk about something else, shall we?"

"That sounds good," I say as another voice trills out at my shoulder. August.

"Oh, hi, Lance," she chirps. "So when are you going to propose to Valerie already?"

Yes, that is indeed my roommate's way of greeting my boyfriend.

Luckily Lance is used to August's antics. "Not quite yet, August. Wait until we're both eighteen." August turns to me with a pout and pokes me hard in the ribs.

"Turn eighteen already, Val, so you and Lance can get married! You have to, you have to, you _have_ to! It would be so _perfect!"_

That's the opinion of most of the people in this school, even the ones who don't know us very well. I laugh slightly. "August, I can't control how old I am." This revelation sets her thinking for a couple of seconds before she shakes her head.

"Nope, but you can ask him," she suggests.

I look down at the waffles on my tray and my stomach growls. The last thing I ate was an energy bar while I was studying for my AP Calc exam. I must have studied straight through dinner last night. "August, I will think about your suggestion _after_ I eat my breakfast," I say, heading towards an empty table. Both Lance and my little freshman buddy follow me.

"So, Val," Lance begins as he sits down, "What's this SCRO thing you've been talking about?"

I eat half my waffle before I deign to respond. "SCRO is the Student Committee Resources Organization. They're holding a meeting to speak with us about what we think our school committees should do with the resources they're given. Two representatives are picked from each school. Mr. Callan sent in my name as soon as he read the flyer."

"Well, that's not very fair." Lance takes a napkin and wipes a dribble of syrup from my chin. "What if you hadn't wanted to go?"

"But that's just the thing, Lance. I told him a couple of months ago that what I really wanted to do was get the tennis program more resources. We only have three rackets and two tennis balls in the school because Green Mountain Prep uses all of its money on other sports and academic programs." Lance starts to say something, but I plow on. "Think, Lance. If I can go to this and get SCRO to back me up to Green Mountain, we could get all of the tennis kids some more rackets, good tennis balls, maybe even an actual court!"

Lance kisses me on the cheek. "You know I just want you to do what makes you happy, Val."

I smile at him. "So you're okay with me being gone for a week or so?"

"Of course. Have fun while you're there, though, okay? And don't go cheating on me just because you're bored. I bet there'll be a bunch of California guys just waiting to steal my girlfriend away from me–"

"I would _never_ do that," I say indignantly. "Besides, if all the schools send in guys like we do, I won't have much to look at. Green Mountain is sending me and Batiste Russel. You know, the nerd kid who always sits in the corner of the room and plays chess with himself during study hall."

Lance smiles half-heartedly and I can tell that the prospect of losing me for even a week is taking a toll on him. My voice softens. "I'll miss you, Lance. I'll be thinking of you every day until I get back."

"Same here, starball." I'm surprised. Lance is using the nickname that only he and my closest family knows – starball, after the gold star that I've always put on all my tennis balls since I was five. "Love you, miss you."

We kiss, then leave as the bell rings for class. I won't see him until my afternoon study hall – right when I'm supposed to leave for SCRO.

* * *

><p>I sit with my hands entwined in Lance's. We sit at the same table. There are fifteen kids in this class – that's big for a Green Mountain classroom. Both of us are watching the clock. As soon as it ticks 1:30, Lance's hands grip mine.<p>

"I don't want you to leave," he whispers as I get up to inform Mrs. Linder that I have to go. I lean down and give him an inconspicuous butterfly kiss.

"Don't worry. I'll be fine. I love you, Lance," I whisper back, then go over to Mrs. Linder's desk. I tap her politely on the shoulder. "Mrs. Linder?"

"Yes, Valerie?" She looks up from the book she's reading. _Jane Eyre._ "How may I help you?"

I gesture at the clock. "The SCRO kids are leaving now."

Mrs. Linder returns to her book. "Of course you may. Go right ahead."

I stop by my locker to grab my things – it's a quick, easy combination, 17-27-17 – and go out to the front of the school, where Batiste, my SCRO partner, is already waiting. He looks at me, shakes his head slightly, and steps into the car that is idling by the walkway – a limousine with blacked-out windows. Classy stuff. I shudder at the thought of a long car ride with only Batiste Russel for company, though. I'm about to walk forwards and open the door when I hear my name called out behind me.

"Val! Valerie Blair! Wait!"

It's Lance. I should have guessed. I turn and accept his embrace as he hurtles into me, smelling like lemons and rubber and some weird (but familiar) kind of scented soap. "Aren't you convinced that I love you enough by now?" I ask, my voice muffled by his shoulder.

"Yes, but… I was thinking… what August said this morning at breakfast…" He is breathing hard, but his hands are gentle on my hands, and his eyes are so, so green when they lock onto mine.

"Valerie Cecilia Blair, will you mar–"

His voice is drowned out as the driver of the car steps out and unknots our hands, smoothly pulling me away from him and pushing me into the car. Lance's mouth is still open, his eyes shocked, as the door shuts and the car starts to move. I stare out the window, my eyes trained on Lance's figure, getting smaller and smaller as we roll out and onto the road. Simmering bubbles of anger begin to form in my stomach, as well as concern for Lance. Surely he must know that I would have said yes–?

But now he'll have to wait until I return from SCRO to confirm it.

I bang on the privacy glass angrily. "Hey! Who the hell do you think you are?"

The glass slides down to reveal a calm, collar-and-tie man wearing sunglasses sitting next to the driver. "Miss Blair, I am very sorry to have interrupted, but we have a schedule to maintain. If it helps to make amends, you may call me Professor Lanner."

Odd as it may seem, I'm too pissed to care.

So I curl up in the corner of my seat, as far from Batiste and Professor Lanner as possible, and stare out the window, wondering what Lance's face would have looked like if I'd gotten the chance to say yes.

* * *

><p><strong>AN**: As you can plainly see, it doesn't follow the normal reaping structure... just enough to let you get to know the character, have a taste of her/his attitude and voice before you get into the story. Yes, there will be twenty-four of these, one for each tribute. They will not each start from their morning wake-up, however. That would get fantastically boring.

So what do you think of Valerie? Lance? August? Batiste (though you'll see more of him next chapter)?

Please review, it means the world to a Fanfiction writer (which most of you should know)!

-Ace


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